


The !!

by cryptidhoney



Series: The !! [1]
Category: Gone Series - Michael Grant
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28736850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptidhoney/pseuds/cryptidhoney
Summary: Caine Soren and Drake Merwin are all about that fame and fortune, but Diana sees the more personal side of music. After their band breaks up and the three end up with bad blood, Diana finds the way to get revenge. But her initial craving to destroy her ex and his unbearable minion soon turns into a genuine connection with the new people she meets.
Relationships: Diana Ladris/Dekka Talent
Series: The !! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2106810
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tea_Market](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_Market/gifts), [Writing_is_Gone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writing_is_Gone/gifts).



> whazzap its me daria with the 3 year old concept i carried in my head.  
> link to the original post -> https://ladrison.tumblr.com/post/171830291071/the-aka-lemonade-mouth-the-sequel  
> make sure to check out the fic made on the same concept, Lemon Moth, i borrow some ideas the author added to the concept.  
> also note that english aint my first language and i havent written anything in 354 years so excuse any mistakes

Diana liked it at Coates.

Well, maybe "like" isn't the right word. The point is, she didn't hate it there.

She knew what kind of person she was and her personality fit very well into the environment of the Coates Academy for Gifted Youth, right into the top of it, in fact. A boyfriend richer than all of the other kids at the school combined, excellent grades and a well-kept appearance made her feel quite cosy in her little bubble, away from her ill-tempered stepfather, overbearing mother and the miserable life she left in Pennsylvania when she transferred to the boarding school.

So she didn't understand why all of a sudden Caine got hung up on making a rock band in sophomore year.

"Oh, I just _see_ the posts on Twitter. "The hottest couple at Coates takes a shot at being the next _My Chemical Romance_ "." Diana's voice almost had no intonation as she sat in Caine and Drake's dorm, lazily watching him fiddle with his shiny new guitar.

Caine smiled to himself, probably feeling flattered about Diana referring to them as the hottest couple, ignoring her point entirely. He slid his finger along one of the strings, listening to it changing pitch intently. Drake chuckled though. Diana hated Drake. He insisted on being contrarian to her on every occasion, but most of all Diana hated when they agreed. This meant that Caine was out of his mind enough even for Drake to realize. Caine lifted his head, brushing a strand of raven hair from his face.

"I guess that picture of you in eighth grade just inspired me."

Diana went all red. She knew what he was referring to: by her appearance in that picture you'd think her school had an all-black uniform. And the amount of eyeliner around her already dark eyes was just criminal.

"Fuck off. I'm not going along with your every whim." This was true. Diana felt fortunate enough to have her say in the relationship, although Caine somehow managed to snake his way into being right in the end every time.

"You know any other bassists in Coates?"

"You consider me a bassist? I haven't played since eighth grade."

"That still means you got more practice than me." Caine smiled sheepishly, but Diana knew it was just a means to an end. "C'mon. Remember how we danced to that one song by _Green day?_ Now we can _live it._

Diana's eyes hung on the shiny polish of the cherry red guitar.

"It was _¿_ _Viva La Gloria?_ " She finally said, voice quieter.

* * *

They didn't as much practice as they argued. Caine yelled at Drake for breaking his drumsticks for the Nth time, Drake yelled "This fucking instrument is literally for my anger issues" right back. Caine huffed that Diana's lyrics are barely pronounceable, Diana would recommend he retake fifth grade English.

But in the end, it worked out somehow. It all came together when they tried a song Diana wrote herself and not songs by other bands they used for practice before. It was amazing. Even Drake's rageful drumming complimented the piece. And Caine's voice... It just sounded angelic, letting out words Diana kept locked inside her for all this time. At that moment she felt like she loved him. Nevermind all the changes he made to her lyrics.

" _My ribcage flares up. Glass turns to stone. I can make lightning by thinking of you_ "

The chorus was the only real thing left of her original poem. She wrote it a very long time ago, but Caine kept looking at her so sweetly with his sharp eyes, she didn't mention it was written when she wouldn't meet him for at least two years. She didn't even really know who or what it was about. But she wanted to know. She looked for it in Caine's hazy grey eyes.

" _Heart skips a beat. It starts to rain. Just muddy water on the green roof_ "

Diana did have a green roof back in Pennsylvania. Quite an ugly green, she remembered. At her previous stepdad's place. Diana snapped out of her trance when Drake loudly slammed one of the plates all of the sudden. Caine stopped singing, the only sound left lingering in the air was the last note Diana strummed on her bass.

A lanky kid stood in the doorway of the classroom they used for practice after school. Diana knew him, but only by appearance. He had... Diana couldn't remember what it's called. He was black, but he had white patches all over his skin and his kinky hair was blonde. He wasn't around much, but that kind of appearance really sticks to your mind. Diana found it beautiful, like his skin was an abstract artwork or something.

"What'cha doin' here, Blotch-skin?" Sometimes Drake had the foulest mouth. Okay, not sometimes, Diana was surprised he didn't have a forked tongue. The kid lifted his hands up in an apologetic motion, but still entered and put his backpack on a chair in the corner. "You one of the slow ones or something?"

Caine rolled his eyes.

"You here for your mom?" He asked. The kid nodded, sat down on the floor next to the chair and Caine turned back towards Drake. "He's the nurse's kid, dumbass. Maybe you're the slow one here. Let's pack up."

The kid watched them idly as they packed up their equipment and left, but when Diana turned to look at him one last time, he smiled coyly at her and waved goodbye.

* * *

The kid, Diana still didn't know his name and certainly didn't felt comfortable calling him Blotch-skin even in her mind, lingered in Diana's memory. She even googled the name of his skin condition. Vitiligo. So what, she thought to herself, you're gonna just come up and strike up a conversation? "Hello, I'm Diana Ladris and I know your skin condition is caused by yet undiscovered genetic circumstances, ain't that neat"? She started drifting off during practice, staring at the door, half-expecting the nurse's kid to show up again. Consequently, Caine became more irritable during practice. Sometimes he'd skip it altogether, trading it for Latin 101 or Violin or whatever whimsy he was into that week. Diana was left to sit alone with Drake in a dusty classroom, just having extremely stale conversation and trying not to hate Caine's best friend's guts. 

Her distracted state eventually cost her the nail of her index finger. Her hand just slipped during a particularly fervent bassline while she was gazing at the door, her mind wandering the halls beyond it. Two full months of growing it out and a fresh coat of white nail polish down the drain. For a kid she didn't even know the name of. Caine, already annoyed by her attitude, just looked on while Diana bled all over her old-as-balls bass and told her coldly to go the nurse by herself. Better than Drake, she pondered while stomping to the nurse's office, trickling blood over the floor, tears of pain welling up in her mascara eyes, who laughed as if he just heard the best joke of his life. Something was seriously wrong with him, Diana thought, and it was probably affecting Caine too.

She knocked on the door of the office with her intact hand, pressing the wound into her brand new ninety-dollar blouse, letting the blood turn the translucent azure colour into a gross brown. After no one answered and the stain on her shirt quickly exceeded the size of a fist, she let herself in.

To her surprise, the elusive vitiligo kid sat in the nurse's chair, just as confused as her.

He made a grossed out face at her finger and the blood at her shirt, but Diana still stood like a statue, not really sure what to say or do. While she stood frozen, the kid started digging through his mom's drawers, eventually finding some cotton swabs and handing one out to her. She pressed it to her hurt finger, forgetting about the pain and sat down on the chair next to him. This went on for about ten minutes. The boy handed Diana fresh cotton swabs when the previous one turned entirely red and she accepted it, tossing out the used one. No one said a word, but the kid smiled softly at Diana as if to say that everything will be just fine.

Eventually, the nurse showed up and apologized profusely when she saw the state of Diana's wound and babbling about how she should've called her or found some other grownup who could call her. She shooed her son off her chair, disinfected and bandaged the finger.

"The skin should be alright in about a week, but the nail might not grow back for about a month, it varies from person to person. I will tell your teachers to not give you any hands-on assignments." The nurse eventually noticed that the entire time Diana was staring at her son, who stood just behind his mother and carefully followed the process of treating Diana's injury. She quickly turned to him and signed something with her hands. This made him frown, linger for a moment and suddenly leave. "I'm so sorry, this is my son, Sam. He has vi-"

"Vitiligo." Diana finished almost instinctively, feeling embarrassed immediately after. The nurse looked at her with an unreadable expression.

"Yes. And selective mutism. We are in the process of changing schools and I can't leave him at home for the whole day."

Diana felt extremely embarrassed at her immediate inner reaction at this information: Drake better not catch wind of this. She didn't know why, but the way this kid... _Sam_ treated her made her absolutely shitty day better. And she wouldn't let anyone, most of all Drake fucking Merwin, ruin it for her with his rotten-shit-at-the-bottom-of-the-dump personality. Diana politely thanked the nurse and left her office, when she noticed a sticky note on the wall of the hallway.

" _Hi :) I hope you're the one to find this and I hope your finger is alright!!"_

No one really understood how and why the queen bee of Coates Academy and the nurse's kid became thick as thieves but didn't feel like challenging Diana's authority either. Do -it-yourself shirts with giant dark blotches even became a short-lived fashion fad after Taylor posted Diana's ruined blouse on her Snapchat. That's why Diana liked Coates, she thought. Maybe not all changes were bad changes.


	2. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The band of the Coates trio gains some traction and Diana's mind is searching for someone who truly understands her creativity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the fuck is up im back with a caffeine-fueled second chapter.
> 
> Special thanks goes out to @Tea_Market and @Writing_is_Gone for all the support and love and i hope you will like it!

Diana's life started going uphill, for once in a while.

Her newfound friendship with Sam gave her opportunities to hang out with someone else rather than Caine's snotty friends, most of whom she found pathetic if not openly gross. Like Penny, who found a way to slither into their band. The poor thing was so hopelessly into Caine, while he just basked in the attention, Diana didn't know whether to laugh or cry. They gave her a tambourine and called it a day.

The band's (which Caine grandiosely named _Crown the King_ ) practice was one of the only things lighting up Diana's boring, boring socialite life. Her old middle school punk days felt reignited and she began paying less attention to classes and more attention to scribbling lyrics and melodies. They had about two perfected original songs by now, complemented by a few covers. Taylor, smelling an opportunity with her sharp influencer nose, buggered Diana every day she returned to their dorm to make a music video. Wasn't a bad idea, but right now Diana only felt comfortable playing to the audience of dusty chairs and desks in their practice classroom. She stopped showing lyrics to Caine for edits altogether, putting her foot down that he either respects her artistic integrity or finds another bassist/lyricist. She did show them to Sam, however. Diana felt like he always got the point of whatever she was writing about, so his suggestions felt helpful and gentle, not annoying and stifling.

"Maybe "crush their hearts" would be better than "crush their heads"." Sam typed out in his phone, the device reading out the sentence in a robotic voice. Diana found the whole thing to be a bit uncanny valley, but at least it was a boy's voice and it was certainly quicker than him just writing and showing it to Diana. "More poetic, less violent."

They were sitting in a small clearing in the woods by the academy, Sam chomping up his ham sandwich and bobbing his head to the punk playlist Diana played for inspiration. Diana wrote down a couple of question marks next to that line and scribbled Sam's suggestion. She took a bite out of her granola bar.

"What do you think of the melody though?"

"Can't read guitar notes." 

"Implying you can read any other musical notes?" Diana smirked, but not in a mean way, Sam mirroring her expression.

"Try writing drums next."

Somewhere far away, the school bell rang.

Diana packed up the leftovers of her lunch, offering the half-eaten granola bar to Sam, who happily took it and finished it in one bite. Diana signed one of the only phrases she learned in ASL, _see you later_ , and Sam nodded, holding up four fingers. Diana shook her head, she had modern dance at four o'clock and held back five fingers back. Sam shrugged and pointed at her phone.

"Okay, text you later then." After only a few weeks, Diana and Sam developed their own intuitive way of communicating, even with the barrier of Diana not speaking ASL. Sam nodded, then pointed at her phone again and his ears. "You want me to send over the playlist? I'll do that later. See ya, Temple."

Sam waved his hand at her goodbye as she disappeared through the trees, flopping down into the warm autumn grass, tapping his hands to the melody left lingering in his head.

* * *

"It's called co _caine_ , for a reason!" Caine was arguing his case about naming the song Diana wrote about her dad's alcoholism after the yuppie drug. She didn't have the energy to explain her lyrics to him.

"Yeah, bad for your health." Taylor chuckled.

"White as hell," Diana added. "I'm not arguing about this. This is not about fucking cocaine and the song will not be named that."

Taylor nodded in agreement, unpacking her bag full of powerful, but small cameras, setting lights and microphones. They were shooting in the woods and it was already getting dark, they were wasting the precious golden hour on useless arguments.

"Teamwork makes the dream work, Dee." Diana hated when he called her Dee. It used to be a sweet nickname, but then she caught on that he meant for it to sound patronizing. "All in favour of calling it _Cocaine_ , show of hands."

Caine raised two fingers, letting his guitar hang from his neck by the belt. The only indication of Drake agreeing was the lit tip of a cigarette floating upwards in the darkness of the pines' shade.

"All decided then."

"Penny's part of the band. She didn't vote and I disagree. This makes it fifty-fifty." Diana fumed, having to use this shit of an argument, but not willing to back down.

"Jesus everloving Christ, just name it _Untitled._ Or after the chorus line, or something. I'm not hanging around here 'til midnight." Taylor flailed a lit ring light around, making Diana's eyes hurt, floating circles being ingrained in her retina. "You people are like the _Beatles_ , minus the fame and money. Let's record it and you fucking _auteurs_ will decide on it later."

There was a low snickering heard from the trees and Diana heard the sound of an extinguished cigarette hissing out.

* * *

The video turned out okay. Diana knew they were amateurs, mouthing the song to a pre-recorded version in the woods, their facial features over-exposed by the harsh lights against the dark backdrop of the forest. In the end, they left the naming up to Taylor and a week later, Diana was sent a link to a shiny new Youtube video, titled _Mind Like a Plastic Bag - Crown the King (single)._ Diana was thankful she didn't go with Caine's idea, but that line of the song hung kind of heavy above her head. She knew that if Caine didn't have the brains to decipher what the song is about, other people still had just as much of a chance and it felt weird having her familial grievings just sitting there. On the internet. For everyone to observe.

The thing blew up immediately, fueled by Taylor's social media wizardry. The song was good, this was true, and Diana guessed the amateur-ish video had that quaint indie vibe to it that all the music snobs and social rejects were chasing after. Diana spent all weekend lounging in bed in her old _Courage the Cowardly Dog_ shirt, the only thing she kept from her middle school angst days, to honour the result of all her teenage depression. She just plugged the video on all of her accounts a few times and refreshed the comment section of the video until her still-healing finger started protesting holding the phone.

The comments were nice. Most of them were from her schoolmates, but a good portion of them was left by people who stumbled upon them by total accident. They were mostly comparing them to their own favourite acts, or leaving excited comments about wanting more, or, as Diana predicted, making fun of them for resurrecting that special kind of shitty teenage rock music. Sam left at least five separate comments and Diana grinned happily.

"Goofball." She said to herself, expanding the neverending stream of emojis in one of the said comments.

One comment stood out though.

It was a Google account, linked to one of the academy-issued email addresses, but Diana didn't recognize it as any of her acquaintances'. It read more like a serious review than a Youtube comment, analyzing the melody, the lyrics and the capabilities of each of the three band members. Diana scoffed at first, laughing at the idea someone at school was aiming for a career at _Pitchfork_ , but she read it all through and just stared at the last few sentences.

_"Diana, I love your lyrics. Don't think either of the two idiots wrote them, so the only one left is you. I know how it feels, I think I do. The minds of other people often feel like plastic, but yours is glass and stone."_

Diana didn't know what to make of it. She tried googling the address, but it wasn't linked to any other social media. Maybe the person made the account on the spot just to comment? It felt strange. _Glass and stone._ They hadn't published the song with the line about glass turning into stone yet, but it felt too much on point to just be a coincidence. Her index finger started hurting. She left a simple reply under the comment.

_"Thanks. Find me in cafeteria sometime?"_

* * *

Sam was ecstatic about _Crown the King,_ waved his hands all around the first time he saw Diana after the song's release. Diana's first instinct was to act like she doesn't know him, since he was outwardly flailing his arms in the crowded hallway and people around them started giggling and whispering, but she held her chin up high and glared holes into the nearest group that dared to do so.

"It's so good. Listened to it non-stop for three days." Sam's robotic voice assistant declared, accompanied by Sam nodding enthusiastically and smiling widely, showing his clean tidy teeth.

"You wanna start a fan club?" Diana grinned back at him.

"I'll be the president, vice president and the secretary. Your drummer is kind of shit though." He imitated drumming frantically, making angry face expressions so alike to Drake, Diana broke out in laughter.

"He's kind of shit overall."

Sam laughed, signing something Diana couldn't understand and refused to translate it, saying it was less funny in words. Diana told him about the mysterious commenter and gave him a screenshot to check it out. Sam scratched his head, then held up a finger, his sign of telling Diana to wait as he's about to type out something long.

"Actually this person sounds like a serious fan. I resign from my position as president and pass it to them. I like their insights a lot too, they sound well-versed in music. That thing about your song line could just be a coincidence though. No offence, no metaphor is an original metaphor. Maybe check out your music classes if you wanna find them? And maybe you recognize the way they write?"

Diana shook her head at his last question. He was probably right about glass and stone too. Diana still wanted to believe there's someone else out there who understands her lyrics as much as Sam, understands them well enough to guess what other things she has written too. It felt embarrassing to say. Drake was dumber than a pile of bricks, Penny and Taylor didn't feel as much like friends as just people she's forced to deal with and Caine... She just felt he wouldn't really understand even if she explained, even if he tried. Sam came the closest, but the mystery commenter came even closer, simply with a piece of text under her mediocre debut.

Sam wanted to get lunch together, but Diana already had promised Caine to lunch with him. She explained he was irritated she didn't spend as much time with him as before. He signed the word she did recognize, _a_ _sshole_ , but she just waved it off. Diana invited Sam to come along but was relieved when he declined. She didn't really want those two parts of her life intercepting, again imagining the type of acid Drake would spit all over the kid. He also technically wasn't even a student, and the greasy-haired senior patrolling the lunch area knew all the laws of the academy by heart and abided by them. Sam held up four fingers and Diana nodded, their meeting time set.

In the cafeteria, which more resembled a Victorian dining hall, with its high ceilings and decorated walls, the cool kids sat at the centre. His grace Caine Soren allowed other people to sit with them, but only one at a time and those people were always in rotation, either getting bored of Caine or Caine getting bored of them. Today he was chatting up Brianna, having moved the heavy bench so she could sit comfortably by the table in her wheelchair.

Diana's heart fluttered.

Was she the glass and stone person? She did say to find her at lunch if they wanted to talk. But no, Brianna was too much of an airhead. Don't get it wrong, Diana loved the kid, but her head was too in the game to be concerned with anything else. You don't get into Paralympics by learning music theory. And Diana was right, she didn't even know what Caine was talking about when he mentioned _Crown the King_.

"Oh, okay. If it's high tempo I'll add it to my workout playlist. Do you have it on Spotify?" Brianna didn't even wait for an answer before slurping in a mouthful of spaghetti. Caine's face went stone-cold as it did when he didn't want to snap at someone, while Drake grimaced and pushed his own plate of noodles away. "Oh, I gueth thath thy Thekka thent me here."

"Brianna, sweetheart, please swallow before talking." Caine was smiling but no emotion was behind his eyes and Diana sensed that he'd rather put Brianna's fork through her eye than be having this conversation.

Brianna sent her bite down with a big gulp, took a swig from her Gatorade bottle and sighed contentedly. Caine gripped the cup of his ice tea tighter.

"I said, I guess that's why Dekka sent me here." She pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from her jacket and handed it to Diana.

"Who's Dekka?" Drake asked, staring at Brianna's ginger head so intently like he wanted it to catch on fire. By God, you could look at that boy wrong and he'd immediately want to kill you. "And why should we care?"

"Man, don't shoot the messenger." Brianna shrugged and started manoeuvring her wheelchair away from their table. "I'm just glad I get to ride to the lunchroom once in a while. See y'all."

Diana put the piece of paper in her pocket and quickly changed the topic to the bore that was the English class they had next period.

 _Dekka._ Now that's a name for a glass and stone person.

"Heard she's into film or something," Caine commented, as if sensing the thought hanging in her head, finally relaxing his face muscles and unpacking his low-carb lunch. "Maybe she wants to direct our next music video. What do you think, Dee?"

Diana heard his words like he was standing at the end of a tunnel. She held the paper tightly in her still bandaged hand in her pocket. She had to find Brianna before she scooted off too far from the cafeteria.

"I'm not hungry." She shot up, grabbed her purse and left.

Caine followed her out with almost a puppy-eyed gaze, not understanding what the hell was wrong with his girlfriend lately. This gave Drake a chance to swipe a bag of plain chips from his tray.

"Women," Drake answered Caine's silent question, adding some unknown liquid from the bottle he pulled out of his bag to both of their cups.


	3. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana sustains an injury and her relationship with her band breaks off after a betrayal. However, there's a light at the horizon in the shape of a new friend.

Thoughts raced in Diana's head as she full-on jogged from the school building to the girls' dormitories.

Brianna's disabled, that means she haves to live on the first floor, right? No, no, the dorms have an elevator. Well, the rooms are marked with the students' first initials and surnames! But she didn't know Brianna's surname.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Diana huffed, running through the already yellowing grass, trying not to get her ankle twisted.

Why the fuck did she need to wear heels today? How many girls with a name starting with 'B' did she even know in Coates? She felt mean for thinking this, but it felt unfair Brianna was this fast. 

She reached the glass doors just soon enough to see Brianna roll into the elevator and its' doors close. Diana tried yelling out but wasn't quick enough. She pounded the elevator button hoping it hasn't departed yet, but it did. Diana gritted her teeth loud and painful enough to hear. She heard blood rushing in her ears. She jolted to the stairs, ducking into every hallway to see whether the elevator arrived there, made it up to the third floor out of the four when she heard it.

One of the rushed clicks of her heels on the stone stairs was followed by a quiet

_crack._

* * *

_"Hey, Lady D! How's it going?"_

"How the fuck do you think it's going?"

Diana looked out of the hospital window, partially obscured by the countless flower arrangements and helium balloons sent by friends and relatives. A pile of missing assignments sat in her lap and she wanted to zap Taylor out of existence for interrupting her work. Her right hand, the one she threw a pity party over when one nail broke off, laid limp beside her, bone cracked under the strained muscle, bruised skin and a plaster cast. She wasn't able to write with her left, so the only thing left was to use a dictaphone for homework and she wasn't able to utilize it when someone was calling her.

_"Ahaha, right, right. Shame about your Louboutins, I always wanted to borrow them for Prom."_

Diana was glad Taylor couldn't see the rage flushing her face. She broke her hand, strained her ankle, probably sustained a brain injury and Taylor was pitying the broken heel of her shoe?

_"Anyway, here's the deal. There's, like, this up-and-coming musicians' podcast down in Perdido. Apparently, they're quite a big thing, they have about a million listeners, so Albert hooked me up with them..."_

"Who?"

_"Oh, whatever. The point is, I pulled some strings and they want Crown the King to be featured. The recording's on Friday, you think you're gonna be discharged by then?"_

"I'm discharged on Sunday."

Diana still had some therapy for her ankle and a brain scan due. When she tumbled down the stairs whole two floors down, the only one who heard was Brianna, she was the only in the dormitories at lunchtime. And she had to use the elevator again, first assuming she was on the third floor, then on the first and only getting it right the third time. By then Diana laid passed out in the stairwell for about ten minutes and it took ten more for the ambulance to arrive. She didn't show any obvious signs of brain injury, so the doctors had to focus on her arm. Brianna called her twenty-seven times in total, worried as all hell and admitted she threw up when she saw Diana's exposed arm bone.

_"Ah, shame. Well, you wouldn't mind if we still went along with it, wouldn't you? It's quite a big opportunity, free exposure nationwide and all."_

"Do whatever, Taylor." Diana wanted her anger to show in her voice. She didn't know why she would be mad at Taylor, but she wanted to be mad at someone for this whole ordeal.

_"Oh you're a doll, that's why I love you, girl. Heal that hand up, we're gonna need it when you're playing at the Superbowl. They say the episode will be up Saturday evening, I'll send you the link."_

Diana ended the call, glad the conversation was finally over. She stared blankly at the essay assignment on the Nazi economy in her lap. If not the thought that she could quickly be moved into the mental ward, she would yell at the piece of paper. Her throat was sore from dictating every piece of her homework into tidy voice files and she couldn't deal with the verdict that she couldn't do any "physically taxing activities" for at least two months. This meant no more bass. The only activity that brightened her days was no more.

There were a few rays of sunshine though. Caine sent her candy every day, he could afford this kind of gesture and it was endearing, even if it was just piling up on the windowsill when a nurse lectured Diana on cavities. Sam brought some new perspective to the situation. In his own words, it's kind of funny that he could only communicate by text and she only by voice.

_"I guess my only purpose in life now is to be your voice assistant"_

_":D !!"_

And among the clothes that Caine dropped off was the uniform jacket she wore that day. In the pocket, a piece of paper that incited this whole mess sat so innocently. It got even more crumpled up than before, probably due to her fall and all the times the jacket changed hands during her hospital stay. It simply read _Thanks, but I'm not the talking kind. Dekka._ The handwriting was neat and blocky. The piece of paper was ripped out of a physics notebook with a piece of the friction formula still scribbled in the corner in different, messy handwriting.

Diana wouldn't let the private nature of this girl ward her off, though. A quick Google search brought up a sparse Facebook profile and an Instagram account filled mostly with movie screencaps of one Dekka Talent of Coates Academy. Diana had a lot of spare time in the hospital, so she watched almost all the films Dekka talked about on her page. She didn't understand a lot of them, artsy French dramas, comedies with completely jarring humour and convoluted horror stories, but all of the films had a certain air of prestige and quality. Diana didn't understand why a person with such good taste would even bother clicking on their shitty garage band's song. She liked Dekka's every post, hoping she'd get the hint but not wanting to outwardly message her, respecting her note. Not the talking kind, huh? Whatever. Shouldn't have commented on her video then.

She brushed the essay assignment onto the floor and picked up her laptop, opening it to finish an obscure Russian war film.

* * *

As promised, the podcast episode was posted on Saturday.

Diana already had all of her stuff packed up, all of the deflated balloons and wilted flowers were thrown out and all she had to do was sleep and stare out the window, so she was looking forward to listening to the podcast. During her week of fuming and brooding alone in a hospital ward, she reconsidered her outlook on this ordeal. This was good, actually. Taylor was right, the podcast was semi-famous and could give them a lot of exposure and Diana's cast would be off in no time, so they can record a slower track to not strain her arm, but still keep the hype going. _Mind Like a Plastic Bag_ was also going to be played on the podcast and Diana was looking forward to hearing the song with new ears, so to speak. She warmed up to it. It was a passable work of art and art is meant to be shared, right? No use of it rotting Diana's brain, even if its subject matter is understood only by her.

_"Hey, hey, hey and welcome back to the Missing Chord, where two guys discuss music literally no one heard before."_

_"Well, maybe not no one, Jack, after all, we listen to it,"_ The second host let out a laugh and from his puberty-ridden voice Diana realized he can't be older than her, and most likely a few years younger.

_"Of course, of course. We are here to tell you all about obscure artists you should keep on the lookout for. There is no satisfaction better than finding a good band with less than a hundred monthly listeners."_

_"And we have a surprise to our listeners today! We have one of such bands today right here in our studio, hailing from our very own hometown! Please give a warm welcome for Crown the King!"_

Caine and Drake said their hi's.

_"Here we have the drummer, Drake Merwin, a self-described slasher aficionado, and the vocalist/guitarist Caine Soren, who's charm already won over the people who heard their debut single, Mind like a Plastic Bag."_

_"Thank you, thank you,"_ Caine's voice had that quality Diana came to call "campaigning tone", it was when he sounded like a politician trying to win votes. _"I would also like to wish well to our bassist and my love Diana Ladris, who unfortunately couldn't join us due to an arm injury. Get well, love."_

_"Right, Crown the King would be nothing without Ladris' dominating bass riffs, ain't that right, Jack?"_

_"Absolutely, we wish a speedy recovery to Diana so she can bless us with more riffs to die for!"_

Caine chuckled quietly, but something told Diana he didn't find anything funny in the hosts' words. She was very flattered though and smiled to herself. She realized no one associated her recovery with her ability to make music before. It went on for a while, the hosts questioned Caine on how they were able to get their first-ever single viral, Drake about his drumming technique and even Taylor appeared for a minute to comment on how she made the music video. Drake seemed to be utterly bored and upset with the whole ordeal, like a child dragged to go shopping with his mother. Caine kept his politician's composure, answering questions calmly, Diana could almost see the polite smile he put on for the hosts, letting out a tasteful laugh or a hum of approval where appropriate. He compensated for Drake's apprehensive demeanour nicely, but Diana knew he was secretly annoyed by his silent strategy.

_"Alright, alright, of course, the match of your, no offence, newbie's guitar-playing abilities, Drake's Whiplash-worthy drumming energy and Diana's bass skills is amazing. But the thing that makes Crown the King truly worth the attention is the lyrics. Mind Like a Plastic Bag evokes feelings of abandonment, anger and longing with the balance I only witnessed in the early works of Mitski. Who's the genius behind it?"_

Diana perked up. These kids might be like fifteen, but they knew a thing or two about music and she was ready to be showered with praise again.

Caine chuckled, voice low.

_"Well, why. It's me."_

* * *

When she returned to school, Diana didn't look Caine in the eye for a month. Eventually blocked his number and stayed locked in her dorm all of her free time to get away from him. Of course, he showered her with apologies, gifts and assurances he didn't mean to offend her, but that was the last straw.

After the podcast, the band really blew up. And now half the country not only thought Caine looked like a Roman statue and sang like a nymph, but also thought he was _so in touch with his emotions_. Diana didn't hear anything more insulting in her entire life. Her father was an alcoholic. Caine's dad is a real estate salesman. He isn't in touch with jack shit, except his genetic impulse to lie and manipulate his way through life. Diana refused to step into a room where Caine is, but that didn't stop Taylor from publishing an EP from what she managed to record while they were practising. Diana didn't talk much to her anymore either. Every day was like Christmas to Drake, though, the little shit. Diana just felt like blaming him for what Caine did, even though he couldn't have possibly come up with anything even in the range of his scheme. This was easier than letting all the rage out on Caine.

Diana's grades fell as she did down those dormitory stairs. She didn't go to any classes that had her freshly baked enemies there. She didn't feel like showing up on campus either, hair unwashed, skin breaking out from abandoning her cleaning routine. This eventually cost her detention. "As a warning", the dean said. No one was used to seeing Diana Ladris like this and she wasn't accustomed to it anymore either. Sam was worried too, texting her every day when he didn't see her, but she didn't feel like talking. The only thing that snapped her out of her state was when Sam called her. She didn't speak at first until a soft and concerned _Hi_ _?_ was heard on the other end. It wasn't the voice assistant, the voice was quiet and rough, like a musical instrument that sat unused for decades.

At that point, Diana just burst into tears. She told Sam all about it and was so relieved he responded, even if it was his robotic assistant again. After she sobbed for about twenty minutes, venturing from the betrayal of Caine into even more embarrassing territory of her family dynamics, Sam was quiet for a while, thinking. Then he explained the joke he told about Caine in ASL. She didn't get it, as he suspected, but apparently, a certain way to sign the word "understand" transforms it into "understand very little". But she laughed anyway.

This was the moment Diana got herself together again. Hell, if she scared Sam enough for him to speak she must be a total bitch for giving that treatment to the only person she considered a friend now. She took the day off and come morning she was once again Diana Ladris - chin held high, eyeliner sharp, uniform spotless. No high heels though, never again. She soldiered on through classes, paying no mind to Caine and Drake as they stared holes through her every chance they got. She got lunch with Sam, who didn't try speaking to her in any way and she was thankful for that. His presence was calming and she didn't feel like talking just yet. Their only "traditional" communication that day was the text Diana got by the end of her classes.

_"Good luck in detention!! Make it shine :D"_

Diana rolled her eyes but had to admit it was an alright joke. Coates, in their own words, took a "Japanese approach" to detention. That meant that as a punishment students had to clean the school. Diana swore Drake could just replace the cleaning staff at this point.

She arrived late, wanting to first leave her stuff in the dorm before enduring this embarrassment. When she got back to the school entrance, Mrs Cleveland, the math teacher every sophomore in Coates loathed, handed her a broom, telling her to "get on with it before she changed her mind about handing her a toilet brush instead". Diana bit her tongue, not wanting another day of this nightmare and went on sweeping the first-floor hallway.

Diana would be willing to do anything but clean. Write "I won't skip class" a thousand times. Do a hundred pushups. This wasn't punishment, this is unpaid labour, Diana thought, throwing another pile of dust, hair and candy-wraps into the bin. This was just a children's version of prison labour. 

As if someone read her thoughts, a hum became audible just behind the corner of the hallway.

" _Just out for a little fun... guilty 'til I'm twenty-one... I guess I'm doin' time for bein' young"_

Diana peaked over the corner to see someone scrubbing the windows of the corridor leading to the cafeteria. A tall, black girl. Thinking she was alone, she started singing a little louder, not hearing Diana's shuffling through her earbuds.

_"It's heartbreaking to be this age, I was locked in a prison of teenage rage"_

She had a jazzy, swing sensibility to her voice. The kind of voice that comes off powerful without really even trying. Feeling hypnotized, Diana stepped into the hallway. That kind of voice is timeless, Diana thought, from old folk songs to modern modulations. It was like honey to her ears, welcoming, the first friendly sound she heard in a long, long while. Containing everything from the soft _Hi_ of Sam to her mom's lullabies.

Noticing her, the girl stopped polishing the window and removed one earbud with a soapy hand.

"Hi, stranger," said Dekka.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, procrastinating writing my essays, which are twice shorter than this beast: FUCK YES PRODUCTIVITY


End file.
